Question behind Noma controversy

Ebru Erke

Picture taken on Nov. 24, 2024 shows Danish chef Rene Redzepi, co-founder of the world renowned Noma restaurant, smelling a citrus fruit in his restaurant in Copenhagen.

The controversy surrounding Noma has sparked a wider debate about power, kitchen culture and unpaid labor in fine dining, as the gastronomic world begins questioning the ‘god-chef’ myth built around figures such as René Redzepi.

Noma has become the center of a global debate about kitchen culture and power in gastronomy. Yet what makes this moment particularly striking is that such a systemic reckoning is unfolding so intensely through the figure of a single chef.

In recent weeks, a subject has emerged in the gastronomic world that is no longer confined to the industry itself; it has increasingly entered the global conversation. It all began with a series of social media posts by Jason Ignacio White, the former head of Noma’s fermentation laboratory. Through his Instagram account, White shared claims regarding working conditions at Noma and alleged instances of internal harassment. He did not limit himself to recounting his own experience; he also published testimonies from other former employees. The posts quickly circulated under the hashtag #NomaAbuse and began directing readers to a website — noma-abuse.com — where anonymous statements were being collected.

As these conversations were gaining momentum, another development took place. During the first days of service at Noma’s Los Angeles pop-up restaurant, just before the kitchen began its evening service, Noma’s founding chef René Redzepi announced that he would be stepping back and leaving the restaurant entirely in the hands of his team.

Yet when one takes a step back and examines the broader picture, it becomes difficult to ignore a deeper reality: What is currently being debated through Noma is, in fact, a much larger systemic question. At this moment, Noma has become something of a symbolic focal point, almost a scapegoat placed at the center of the discussion.

From the perspective of an outside observer, the picture appears layered. Within this story, there are undoubtedly genuine experiences, disappointments and even traumas. But there also seems to be an element of retrospective reckoning — perhaps even a degree of unresolved resentment. Let me also state something clearly. Throughout my career, I have known many chefs from around the world, but I have never met either René Redzepi or Jason White personally. I, therefore, stand in no position to defend one side or accuse the other. What interests me is the issue itself.

First and foremost, one principle must be stated unequivocally: Violence in any form is unacceptable. Whether in a kitchen or any other workplace, behavior that undermines human dignity has no defensible justification.

But the debate unfolding today is not merely about workplace culture. It is also a moment in which the gastronomic world is confronting a myth it helped create over the past two decades — the myth of the “god-like chef.” Even people outside the culinary world know that professional kitchens can be harsh environments. The tension before service, raised voices, exhausting hours — these are hardly new stories in gastronomy.

Anthony Bourdain described the darker realities of kitchen culture with striking clarity in Kitchen Confidential. Yet despite this, the gastronomic world chose, for many years, to overlook these realities. At times, it even romanticized them. During the same period, certain chefs ceased to be merely skilled cooks and began to transform into cultural figures in their own right.

This is where the phenomenon of the “god-chef culture” emerged. That culture did not appear overnight; it developed through the convergence of several dynamics.

The first lies in the kitchen system established by Auguste Escoffier in the late 19th century. The brigade system — still used in professional kitchens across the world today — organizes the kitchen through a structure that resembles a military hierarchy. Originally designed to ensure discipline and speed, this structure gradually normalized forms of authoritarian leadership. The second factor was the influence of media and rankings. Television programs, gastronomy magazines and especially lists such as The World’s 50 Best Restaurants transformed certain chefs into near-mythical figures.

The third — and perhaps most problematic — element was the system of unpaid internships. Young cooks who wanted to work at the world’s most prestigious restaurants often accepted months or even years of unpaid labor. The logic was simple: Having those restaurants on their résumés could open doors anywhere in the industry. Yet this model also concentrated power overwhelmingly in the hands of chefs.

Today, that model is beginning to unravel. A new generation of cooks is increasingly unwilling to accept shouting cultures, extreme working hours and unpaid labor. There is also the reality of economics. Fine-dining restaurants are notoriously difficult businesses to run profitably. Maintaining large teams under such demanding structures is becoming harder to sustain. What is particularly interesting is that René Redzepi himself had already acknowledged this reality before the current controversy emerged. In 2023, he publicly stated that the traditional fine-dining restaurant model was neither economically nor humanly sustainable and announced that Noma would be shifting its operational structure.

So what do people who have actually worked within the system think? I spoke with several Turkish chefs who have firsthand experience at Noma.

Writer and former Noma intern Reyhan Ülker describes her experience with striking honesty: “I spent a period as an intern at Noma. It was an experience that contained both admiration and discomfort at the same time. Standing in the middle of that kitchen, I realized how fragile the business model behind the world’s most celebrated restaurants actually is. I was a very small part of a very large system. Many of the interns who started at the same time as I did did not complete the program. Very few were able to endure the pace and the pressure.”

“I expected to learn new techniques, but what I ended up observing most closely was the organization itself. Over time, I witnessed — and experienced — increasingly sexist and racist remarks and actions. Sometimes they were explicit, sometimes disguised as jokes or small aggressions,” she explained.

“When I spoke openly about the verbal and physical harassment I experienced, the first reaction I received was not to question the behavior itself but to question my perception of it. I was asked whether, as a woman raised in Eastern culture, I might have misunderstood the situation. In that moment, I realized something important: The problem was not the act itself, but the courage required to name it as a problem,” she added.

Michelin-starred chef Fatih Tutak offers a different perspective: “I personally never encountered such situations. However, if the allegations are true, then of course it is wrong. Kitchens are disciplined and demanding environments, but humiliating or mistreating employees is unacceptable. People should respect you — but they should never fear you.”

Chef Melih Demirel, who started as an intern and later worked there for nearly a year, interprets the situation differently: “Many interns arrive without fully understanding the seriousness of the work. It is certainly not an easy environment, but I have worked in kitchens that were even harsher. Dan Barber, for instance, can be far more aggressive. I did not experience the things that are now being described during my time at Noma. When you are racing against time in a kitchen, tension rises and voices naturally become louder. Restaurants that aim to be the best in the world want people who can endure that pressure.”

Chef Mert Küçüka, currently preparing to open a restaurant in Hong Kong after spending four months as an intern at Noma, points to another dimension of the issue: “We collectively glorified the idea of working under pressure in top-ranked restaurants. Chefs who trained in those kitchens carried that discipline into their own restaurants. I do not condone physical or psychological violence, but nobody forced us to work there. I think some of these reactions are exaggerated.”

Taken together, these different voices reveal something essential. What is unfolding around Noma today is not simply the story of a single restaurant. It is the sign of a broader moment in which the gastronomic world is beginning to question a myth it helped build. Perhaps for the first time, the realities that have long been discussed behind the closed doors of professional kitchens are being debated openly and loudly. And perhaps that is precisely why this conversation ultimately extends far beyond Noma itself.